"What be the matter, Miss Dorothy?"
"Is that you, Robert?" I said. "Come here. Look! Do you see?"
"See what?" he said.
"Don't you see anything?" I said. "No light? Nothing?"
"Nothin' whatever," said Robert, decidedly; "it be as dark as pitch."
I stood silent, gazing at the apparition, which, having reached the gate, was slowly re-advancing. If it were fancy, why did it not vanish? I rubbed my eyes, but it was there still. Robert interrupted me, solemnly—
"Miss Dorothy, do you see anything?"
"Robert," I said, "you are a faithful friend. Listen! I see before me the lost hand of your dead master. I know it by the sapphire ring. It is surrounded by a pale light, and moves slowly. My sister has seen it three times in her sleep; and I see it now with my waking eyes. You may laugh, Robert; but it is too true."
I was not prepared for the indignant reply:
"Laugh, Miss Dorothy! The Lord forbid! If so be you do see anything, and it should be the Lord's will to reveal anything about poor dear Master Edmund to you as loved him, and is his sister, who am I that I should laugh? My mother had a cousin (many a time has she told me the story) as married a sailor (he was mate on board a vessel bound for the West Indies), and one night, about three weeks after her husband had—"